


All Is Fair

by ZeeBeing



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Revolution, Angst?, Buckingham Palace, Historical, Historical? But hella not historically accurate, No direct pairing but could be read as one, Revolutionary War, USUK ?, idk really, or visa versa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 23:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6260305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeeBeing/pseuds/ZeeBeing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America's traveled to Britain to finally talk some matters over, but when something goes awry and America ends up leaving barely before even arriving, can England make things better before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Is Fair

Today was the day. He was finally going to do it. America had spent the past months traveling and preparing for this, So here he was, in England, getting ready to talk to his big brother, his colonizer, his raiser. And he had absolutely no idea what to say. He  _ should _ know what to say, he'd been practicing and preparing for months, but right now everything was drawing a blank.

He stared nervously at the door in front of him. The dark oak door to England's study in the infamous Buckingham Palace. The rest of the long hall covered in fancy paintings, colorful tapestries, detailed intricate designs, and sparkling artifacts -- it was much too intimidating and not in the least bit helping America’s dry mouth. He didn't think he’s ever seen so much wealth in one place, especially not from where he lived, but that only brought the matter back to what he was here for. 

Bracing himself, he grabbed the door handle and opened the door.

The man at the desk jumped, looking up from the paperwork on his desk with a jerk before things seemed to register. England gave America a surprised look before he stealed himself.

“America? I wasn’t expecting you- how did you--”

“A maid showed me to your office. I told them not to tell you; I wanted a surprise!” America said sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck. “I figured since you come to visit me,” America faltered then quickly added, “...sometimes.”  _ Not at all really. _ “Then I should come and visit you!”

“Oh. Well.” England said flatly. “That’s nice America,” he continued with a dismissively, “but as you can see I’m very busy right now so--”

“That’s not the only reason.”

Something in America’s tone made England still. He looked up at the other, gaining his full attention.

“Yes?” He said tauntly. 

Alfred continued, attempting lightheartedness.

“It's just-- my people are unhappy. You should know this already, there have been many letter exchanges. I myself have even sent numerous letters even to you personally.”

For a split second, an expression crossed England's face. His eyes narrowed. It was something knowing, calculative, daring. But it was gone in a second before America could contemplate it.

America continued on, “But seeing as I have recieved no reply I assume that they were lost or misplaced perhaps on the way here. Otherwise I know you would have replied to me. I am your colony afterall.”

That odd expression crossed England's face again but this time it was slightly different. Just a tad more uneasy, a tad more remorseful. Once again, it was only a flash before his face returned to normal, giving nothing away.

America waited for a response standing awkwardly in front of England's desk. The response came after a long pause.

“I have heard.” England said finally.

America wished he didn't know why England didn't elaborate.

“Yes well, as you know we are your people. The people of the colonies crossed the ocean from your lands, they are your citizens aren't they?”

America paused to wait for a response. England's face remained steadily unresponsive. 

America swallowed and continued, “But the thing is you treat us differently from the people in Britain. You tax us over and over again when you don't tax people in England like that. Aren't we the same people? Why do we get taxed but you don't? We get taxed for nearly everything and all the money goes to you. It's like- it's like-”  _ It’s like we’re being used. _

America swallowed, getting ahold of himself. England remained eerily quiet, his face giving nothing away.

“The soldiers too. You send the soldiers here, without proper housing -- they have to live in the people's homes. There’s enough of them as it is but you keep sending more. But the thing is we don't need protection. We're pretty safe as it is. No big threats from outside forces.” He let out a strained laugh. “Why else would you send soldiers if not for protection, after all?”

A dangerous accusation hung in the air above both their heads, one America wished wasn't there but he couldn't suppress it.

America continued. “We’re brothers aren't we? Of the same blood; we stand beside each other don't we?”

England finally spoke, cutting off the rest of America's speech.

“Get to the point, America.” He snapped sharply.

England’s snap made something flare up in America.

“You don't treat us fairly!” America’s voice raised, “You give us all these taxes, laws, guards! Like you don't trust us! But we haven't done anything to make you think otherwise! We are part of you! We stand beside you, on equal grounds!  _ I _ stand beside you! Yet you treat us like you rule over us! Like we aren't a part of you! Like we’re some foreign land that you conquered over! You make all these laws for us! Rules! Taxes! For us and only us! There’s no one to stand up for us. Anyone who makes decisions for us lives all the way over in England. How are they really supposed to understand what's happening an ocean away? You think you know what's going on but you’re never around to even see what it's like!” America fumed. “We just want something. Something to give us a little choice over ourselves. A little representation in the government! A little voice, that's all! I just want to be able to make decisions  _ with _ you.”

America’s outburst ended. He stood back, catching his breath. England, still sitting at his desk remained still. He studied America for a moment, before his eyes narrowed.

“Let me set something straight for you, America,” he said dangerously calm as he rose from his chair. “You're not ‘beside’ me, you're  _ under  _ me. You are  _ my _ colony. I found you, I colonized you,  _ you do what I say. _ You can't ‘represent’ yourself.” He said in mockery. “Look at yourself now, barely able to to put two sentences together without gibbering on and on. You're too young, too inexperienced. You won't be able to represent yourself, trust me. I am the greatest empire in the world!  _ I _ make decisions.  _ I  _ know what’s best -- you don’t.”

England glared America in the eye. His eyes were dark and angry. America flinched and drew back in shocked. 

He wasn't expecting that. England’s never looked at him or talked to him like that before. He’s been angry before, dismissive, but never degrading, never oppressive. He never felt like he meant it before. It hurt. Is that what England really thought of him? As his possession? As just another object he used and put away? 

Something clenched in America's chest. A wet pressure gathered in his eyes but he forced it back down. England wouldn't see him hurt. He let something else bubble up in its place. So that was what England really thought of him. He didn't care about him or his people, just how much land he owns. Fine. He saw how it was now.

A fuming fire roared to life underneath his skin but the room’s temperature remained icy cold.

They shared cold defiant glares. A tense silence followed.

“My people won't stand for this for much longer.” America growled, finally  breaking the silence.

“Is that a threat?” England hissed in return.

“You want to know why you never want to step on a timber snake?” America asked instead.

England rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, do enlighten me.”

“Because they always come back to bite you in the ass.” America said lowly. “Don't tread on me, England.” he finished darkly and turned on his heels, barging out of the room. The door slammed open on his way out and he stormed down the hall, leaving the room for good.

He didn't stay in England long, not when he was near that tyrant. He needed to be with his own people. America left on the next ship back to the colonies -- no, America decided --- back to his nation.

\---

It had been awhile since America visited him last. He hasn’t spoken to him since. No letter, no message, nothing. It’s been too long.

England regretted it. He’d been too harsh on him and he knew it. He knew he should apologize, send a letter, at least try to contact the boy, but his pride prevented it. That day had been a bad day, a stressful day. England had far too much on his mind than to be worrying about the small matters overseas with his colony. But then again, he supposed, that was America's point.

It just boiled out of hand. He was being too harsh, but it was true. America had no idea how to govern even if he wanted it. He had to know there was much more to it than it seemed. He had other colonies to worry about, other nations, other matters in his own land. America also didn’t seem to understand his position. He was England’s colonies, not ‘England’. The rules were different. And the taxing? He tried, but America had to understand that he needed money, if you stopped taxing something then you had to start taxing something else, but nothing made him happy. 

His people were getting more rambunctious about it as it was, but when America himself showed up demanding these things, a split second of doubt flickered through his mind. America seemed rather out of place, very defiant. Could he be losing him? Whatever he did he couldn’t let that happen. So he put his foot down and then his stubborn pride wouldn’t let him take it back. But now that time had passed, he realized how ridiculous the notion was. America, his little colony, leave him? Of course that would never happen.

England sighed in defeat, sitting at his desk. He lost his temper, that was all. He needed to fix this before things got out of hand. He couldn't put it off any further. Sighing, England shoveled away his pride along with the work on his desk, instead replacing it with a blank parchment. He would write a letter and apologize. He could ask to arrange a meeting place, and then they could finally sort out these problems in a way that was good for both of them. 

Content and confident of this idea, England dipped his pen in the ink well on his desk and began writing.

_ Dearest America, _

_ I have come to the realization that I owe you a great apology-- _

But before England could barely finish the first sentence a frantic knock came at the door. He looked up. He didn't remember scheduling any meetings.

“Yes, come in.” 

A frantic man came through the door. His breath came out in shallow pants.

“I'm sorry sir but there's an extremely important delivery from the colonies!” The man said worriedly, “It’s urgent and was said to be delivered directly to you before all others.”

England sensed the seriousness at once. He quickly stood up from his seat.  “Oh god, what happened? Something’s happened hasn't it? For it to be delivered directly to  _ me _ ? Something’s got to be wrong.” He stepped around the desk reaching out for the scrolled parchment whispering, “Dear God I hope he’s alright.”

He snatched the parchment and tore it open. 

England choked. 

He barely opened it half way before he read in large neat letters:

_ Declaration of Independence of the United States of America. _

The paper fluttered to the floor. England fumbled backwards into his desk sending a long forgotten cup of tea spilling onto the ground. 

“Sir? Sir!” the messenger ran to his side. “Are you alright?!”

England didn’t flinch. He stared dead ahead, paralyzed. Lips quivering, his mouth opened and closed in silent words.

“I… I…”

“Was it the letter? Did you read it?”

“I don’t need to.” he breathed at last. His voice was tiny. “Take it to the King. Immediately.” His eyes continued to stare ahead, unfocused, even as the messenger picked the parchment off the ground. He seemed reluctant to leave at first, then sprinted out of the room leaving England in silence. He could not think, or rather, his thoughts were coming too fast for him to comprehend. He stayed there in his office like that, for how long he didn’t know.

The news took time to reach the King, and then the people. It took a while to hit him too. What did it mean? What was he going to do about it? He couldn’t let him leave could he? Just like that? This couldn’t be happening. Just yesterday everything was normal and now his world was in chaos. The rest of his day and the next was spent in a daze before he finally came to terms with it. 

America was leaving him. This was a revolution. This meant war. 

England loved America, he truly did. He’d regret it forever, not showing it just a little bit more. But now America was leaving, to be gone forever. He couldn’t let that happen. Now there was going to be a war, a civil war of broken trust of split love -- a revolution. 

And you know what they say about love and war.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
